Doorstep Baby
by Bella Winter Rose
Summary: An infant found on Nick's doorstep sends his life (and the lives of others) into a tailspin, especially when the mother proves hard to find.
1. Goin' To California

She'd been driving for twenty hours straight, her foot heavy on the gas pedal, the window cracked open just enough so she could hear the wind and other sounds of traffic race past her ears.

She ignored how sore her butt was or how cramped her knees felt. She just had to get to Los Angeles as fast as she could. She had made it out of Louisiana and then Texas safely enough, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't _feel_ safe until she had crossed the state line into California. She stopped only to eat and use the bathroom. The only thing keeping her awake was ambition.

It was four AM, the traffic was light. She clicked on her overhead light and studied her map. Eleven more hours on the road would take her to her destination. There was a light at the end of this tunnel.

She crossed the line into Nevada and a shiver of excitement went up her spine. She was beginning to ease up and her adrenaline began to slip away. She pulled into the first motel she came across—a no-name dump that advertised a queen-sized bed and a color TV for forty dollars a night.

Once she was settled into a room that had seen its better days in the seventies, she was able to scrutinize her path more carefully, using a tube of Coral Sunburst lipstick to mark exits and routes.

She realized she was a little more than an hour's drive away from Las Vegas. She'd always loved Las Vegas, the bright lights, the intrigue…there was a smell of sex and money in the air, a scent she wished could be bottled and dabbed behind her ears.

There was one other thing that held her interest in Las Vegas: Nick Stokes. _Nick_ was in Las Vegas, he _worked_ there! Not only that, he worked on the side of the law, just like his folks. Good old Nicky.

It would be lovely to see Nick again, it seemed like so long ago. It had been nearly two years since that one night they got together, that wild, crazy night when her whole world changed.

He had to help her now, she had no choice but to ask for his help. Why wouldn't he help her? They definitely weren't strangers.

Feeling confident, she circled Las Vegas with her lipstick, making a pinkish-reddish loop around and around. "Looks like I'll be paying Nick Stokes a visit. Tonight," she said.

* * *

It was mornings like these Nick was grateful he was a graveyard shifter. His eyes snapped open like a window shade as the sun swept over the bedroom of his townhouse but all he did was groan—loudly—and turn over, wrapping the comforter around his head. 

Last night was insane. He'd just closed a two-week-long case with Warrick and together, victoriously, headed to their favorite bar for a few celebratory brews. They'd hooked up with a trio of sexy UNLV seniors that introduced themselves as Butterfly, Desdemona and Verde. Who knows if those were their real names or not, Nick and Warrick couldn't have cared less.

After an hour of sharing shots and flirting, the girls insisted on taking them to a club they frequented at called Dionysus, a favorite simply because Desi knew the DJ. Warrick had taken a liking to Verde and they spent the entire night on the dance floor. Nick wasn't interested in neither Butterfly or Desi, but Butterfly seemed smitten with him. Desi disappeared during the course of the evening and Nick lost track of Warrick and Verde. Butterfly was hanging all over him, stroking his leg and kissing his neck. Nick wasn't ready to form a relationship with anyone, let alone a co-ed he'd just met, but he took it all in stride, humoring her. Towards the end of the night, she'd scribbled down her number for him on a purple Dionysus napkin but had signed her name _Janet_.

Nick poured himself into bed around three AM. He had given up on trying to find Warrick in the crowded club and ended up taking a cab home. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

_Damn the sun_, he thought as he tried to grab at sleep once again. It felt like there were marbles rolling around in his head. Thank God he didn't have to be at work until much later. There was nothing to do but sit back, watch ESPN and stay hydrated (the only real cure to hangovers).

Falling asleep for Nick was like taking a long drive. You began down the road, slowly at first but gradually faster. As you became closer and closer to your destination, the sky grew darker and before you knew it, you were heading towards a long tunnel. This was deep slumber.

Just as he was about to enter the tunnel, he heard a strange sound that pulled him back. He couldn't place exactly what the sound was…but it was persistent. It sounded anguished. A scream, maybe? At this realization, Nick sat up in bed. He was tempted to reach for his gun, but decided against it. It was nine o'clock in the morning, what could possibly be out there that required the use of a gun?

The screams continued. He slid out of bed and tiptoed out his bedroom and into the hallway. Then he made his way to his living room and peered out the window into the street. Nothing. No cars, no people. However, the screams grew louder. Finally he swung open his front door. It took him a few moments to figure out the origin of the screams: sitting on his doorstep, bundled up in a car seat, was an infant. And it was yelling its head off, its tiny face beet red. Beside the car seat was a green and yellow plaid tote bag. Otherwise, there was nothing.

"Hey, Stokes!" yelled a voice. His next-door neighbor, Marty, was standing in his doorway wearing a wife beater and pajama pants. "Get that little rugrat to shut up, huh? It's too early in the morning for this shit!"

Nick, too shocked to say anything, just gave Marty a nod. His neighbor grunted and lumbered back into his house. Once Marty was gone, Nick knelt beside the car seat and stared at the baby, whose cries were not soothed to an irritating whimper at the presence of another human being.

"Who are _you_?" Nick asked. He stood and looked around again, up and down the street. He looked among the bushes. Nothing. As a CSI, he was hungry for evidence as to who this child was and who left him _here_ of all places. Shoeprints, tire marks—anything! _Who in their right mind would pick my doorstep out of all the identical doorsteps on this street?_ The kid could have very well been left at Marty's.

"I can't just leave you out here, can I?" Nick now said to the baby, who stared up at him, still sobbing quietly. He scooped up the car seat, which was heavier than he expected, and kicked the tote bag inside with his foot and closed the door by maneuvering his shoulders. It wasn't until Nick had set the baby down on his kitchen counter when he saw the note pinned to its jacket:

Dear Nicky,

I need your help. I can't take care of Ryder right now. I'm in a bit of trouble and I don't want him to get mixed up into all of this. I can't explain it. Just please, please, please don't ask any questions and do this one favor for me.

Love, Rachel

"Rachel?" Nick said aloud. Now _there_ was a blast from the past. He looked back down at the baby and gave a great sigh. He put one of his fingers into the baby's palm which he grasped tightly and made an attempt to stick Nick's fingers in his mouth. "Well, Ryder, looks like you're my newest nephew. And it looks like my sister sure knows how to screw things up, huh?"


	2. The Ballad of Rachel

Twins ran in the Stokes family.

John Stokes himself had a fraternal twin brother, Kurt. His wife Maureen Carter was the older sibling to identical girls named Melanie and Melissa. They had met at a twin convention in Minnesota that John and Kurt were attending and Maureen was chaperoning her sisters. Between them, there were sixteen sets of twins: siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles. John's grandfather even had a twin.

Because of this, it came as no surprise when on August 18, 1971 Maureen gave birth to her own pair of twins, her sixth and seventh children: first a girl, Rachel Jane, who was followed twenty minutes later by her brother, Nicholas James. The running joke in the family was that Rachel had been first because of her eagerness to join the world and greet everybody, while Nick, who proved to be a painfully shy child, hung back as long as possible, truly making him the youngest child of the Stokes clan.

As babies, people would marvel over the Stokes twins, claiming they'd never seen a brother and sister so in tune with one another. When one cried, the other would follow soon after. When one was sick, the other would fall ill no less than twenty-four hours later. They couldn't stand to be separated and getting them to go to school and put in different classes was so devastating to them that special arrangements were made so they could be together. In one particular incident when they were five, Nick had fallen down while roller skating outside and broken his wrist, while inside, Rachel complained of acute pains in her arm—completely unaware of Nick's accident.

Growing up, Rachel was fast to protect Nick from anything and anyone—but when they entered middle school, roles quickly reversed. Rachel proved to be a bit more promiscuous than John and Maureen would have liked, getting caught up in parties and boys. The elder Stokes children were constantly defending the honor of their littlest sister, but none fought harder than her twin.

Over the years, when the older kids washed their hands of Rachel, it was Nick who unlocked the door every night so she could sneak home discretely and lied for her. He would accompany her to certain parties and picked her up when she was too drunk to drive. When they were sixteen, it was Nick who had driven Rachel to the abortion clinic and when they were twenty, he had taken her to get her stomach pumped when she had mixed vodka and one to many sleeping pills.

Nick spent a good part of his life taking care of Rachel, until they graduated college: Nick with his bachelor's degree in criminal justice and Rachel with hers in theater. They went their separate ways. Rachel headed to California and Nick remained in Texas at the Dallas PD. They stayed in touch fervently, writing letters and emails, sending postcards, making phone calls almost daily, tearfully reuniting for every holiday and family event.

But one day, about five years ago, Rachel stopped responding to Nick's letters and returning his phone calls. He couldn't understand it. Barely a day went by when they didn't hear from one another. He called his parents and asked if they'd heard from Rachel and his mother explained that Rachel _had_ contacted them—only to say that they wouldn't be hearing from her for awhile. She gave no explanation. This news had sent Maureen Stokes into a frenzy but was reminded by her husband that Rachel was a grown woman now, she could take care of herself.

It seemed like Rachel had disappeared from the family. She didn't show up for any Thanksgivings or Christmases or Easters. She didn't show up to the christening of their sister Grace's twins, Logan and Lily, and she wasn't present at the family reunion. And it wasn't like the family didn't try to contact her: phone numbers they dialed were answered with a recording explaining that the number had been disconnected. Letters that were written came back with _Addressee Unknown_ scrawled on them. In five years, Nick had gotten only postcards from Rachel—short, curt and without a return address, postmarked Chicago, Florida, Indianapolis. Random and without consistency.

Having Ryder appear on Nick's doorstep was the first thing Nick had heard from Rachel in two years, when she came for an unexpected visit.

"I'm in town for a few days," she announced. She had shown up with only a small duffel bag. "Can I crash here?"

"Uh…" Nick was confused but happy. "Sure, sure. You can take my bed, I'll use my pullout."

She had suggested—no, _insisted_—that Nick take her clubbing that very night.

"Come on, how often are we together anymore?" she said. "I want to go out and dance. Please, Snickers?"

It was the old nickname she had called him when they were kids. He eventually relented and took her to a few places.

Nick still wasn't sure where or how, but along the course of the night, someone had handed Rachel some ecstasy. Nick didn't see her take it, but he knew all the signs: heightened energy levels, grinding of the teeth, loss of appetite, sweating, nausea, hallucinations—Rachel had the whole nine yards. She was also overly affectionate to everyone, which made Nick uncomfortable. He had to follow her around all night to make sure she didn't over-hydrate herself or get into any kind of trouble. At one point, he had lost track of her in a club called The Rocking Chair, where she disappeared into a back room with a group of people. When Nick tried to follow them, he was stopped at the door and told he wasn't allowed to enter. So he waited patiently until Rachel emerged, trashed and partially disrobed, nearly two hours later. He promptly took her home, despite her protests.

_That wild night in Vegas_, Nick sighed as he shook his head and sat at his kitchen table. Ryder was making a fantastic attempt of grabbing Nick's keys, just out of reach. He was making cute little grunting noises in effort.

"What? You want my keys?" Nick raised an eyebrow.

"Kaaa…" whined Ryder.

Nick remembered how easily his niece Shelly, now sixteen, was entertained simply by having a key ring jangled in front of her. "Check this out, Ryder." Nick made the keys dance, successfully catching the baby's attention. He gave a smile and made a quick grab for them. When Nick pulled them away, Ryder's face crumbled.

"Aw, man, don't cry…" Nick started to say, but it was too late. Ryder took a deep breath and let go. Nick didn't think a wail that loud could come from such a tiny baby. "Whoa now!" Nick backpedaled and quickly thrust the keys towards him. "Take the damn keys!"

Once Ryder had the key ring in hand, his cries died down and immediately stuck the keys in his mouth and began to gnaw on them. Nick filled his cheeks with air and sighed. Again. This was going to be a rough day.

_How am I going to explain this one to Grissom?_


	3. Ordinary Day

Nick called Grissom's cellphone and informed him that he would be unable to come to work that evening.

"What? Why?" Grissom asked.

Nick lied as fast as he could. "I'm…I'm all congested. I have a bit of a fever and…I can't stop coughing. I think it might be bronchitis."

That was all Nick had to say. Grissom quickly permitted him the night off and directed Nick to call him tomorrow on an update of his health condition.

Once Grissom was out of the way, Nick decided to tend to more pressing matters. Ryder was still happily chewing on Nick's key ring in his car seat. Nick wondered how long he'd been sitting in that thing.

"Hey, buddy, maybe you'd like a change of scenery, huh?" Nick said, smiling. Ryder looked up at Nick with big brown eyes—oh, yeah, those were Rachel's eyes, big and round like an owl's and a beautiful sepia color.

Nick undid the straps to the car seat and peeled back the receiving blanket that was covering Ryder's lower body. He went into the adjoining living room and spread the blanket out. Very carefully, he lifted Ryder out of the seat. He was heavy—a good ten or twelve pounds. At least Nick knew he was not dealing with a newborn. Ryder, meanwhile, hung onto those keys for dear life until he was safely on the blanket. Nick placed him on his belly, but Ryder immediately rolled himself onto his back and continued to gnaw on the keys. Nick was amused.

"I should call you Flipper," he laughed.

Ryder removed the keys from his mouth long enough to respond to Nick with a, "Ha-ha."

If it was one thing Nick remembered about babies, it was that you should a) always support the head and b) _never_ leave them alone. He quickly went back into the kitchen for the diaper bag and raced right back into the living room. He sat on the couch, keeping an eye on Ryder, and sifted through its contents.

There were two plastic bottles and a set of four rubber nipples, a can of formula, a few toys (Nick was relived to see teething rings—his keys would be saved), three additional receiving blankets, a supply of diapers and wipes that Nick figured would barely last a week, several changes of clothes (including a cloth bib) and about nine jars of baby food. This put a little bit of hope into Nick. _Obviously Rachel didn't intend on staying gone for too long, or else she would have left more than what was in here, right?_

When the bag was empty, Nick noticed another note taped to the bottom of the inside: _Thank you, Snickers_. Nick could have laughed. Of course this was a highly unorthodox way of asking for a favor, but what else would he have done? Left Ryder there on his doorstep? Taken him to an orphanage? This was his nephew, why wouldn't he take him in?

Nick watched Ryder entertain himself and contemplated his life right now. Okay, so he had Ryder for, what—a week or two? Then Rachel would return. What to do about work? Grissom was not going to take this lightly, he knew this. He could play up the bronchitis thing for maybe three days. He had enough sick days, he can forfeit a few for special purposes.

"Maa…maa…" Ryder insisted. He held out the keys to Nick.

"What?" Nick laughed. He got down on his knees on the carpet and settled beside Ryder. He took the keys from Ryder and handed him a teething toy that Rachel had tossed in the bag. Ryder didn't complain.

Nick returned to his thoughts. _Now, why me? _he kept thinking. He and Rachel had four other sisters and a brother Ryder could have been left with. Why would she chose him, the unmarried one? Or better yet, why wouldn't she leave him with their parents?

Well, all of this didn't matter now. Nick was the "chosen one" and he had Ryder in his life now, even if it was only temporary.

Getting comfortable, Nick stretched out on his belly and propped his head in his hands. Now that he was closer to his little nephew, Nick could definitely pluck out the similarities and the features Ryder had inherited from Rachel. He had her set eyebrows, wide forehead, the strong Stokes jaw line. As Nick was about to reach out and stroke the baby's soft downy head of dark hair much like his own, Ryder lashed his tiny arm out and bopped Nick on the nose.

"Ow," Nick winced as Ryder giggled his delight. "You little sadist."

"Dada?" Ryder asked inquisitively.

"No, I'm not your dad. I'm your uncle Nick."

"Da!" Ryder insisted.

"We need to find a place for you to sleep tonight," Nick mused aloud. "Come on." He stood and lifted Ryder up, who immediately began to drool all over Nick's Rice University sweatshirt. "Aw, man."

Ryder was amused; Nick not so much as he tried to mop it up with a spit-up cloth that had been in the diaper bag. He didn't think he would actually need to use that thing but it was a necessity to save his sweatshirt.

"This is the life of a bachelor, Ryder my man," Nick said as they ventured out of the living room, holding Ryder in a sitting position, facing out. "Get to know it well."

Wandering around the house for an hour proved fruitless and Nick was no closer to finding a place for Ryder to sleep than he was when he started his search. The only thing he could think of that would be considered somehow inhumane was to empty out a drawer in his dresser.

"This is going to be a problem," Nick said aloud. "Did your mom really think I was gonna have a crib lyin' around my house?"

_A crib lying around the house…_Nick could only think of one person who would have something remotely close to a crib in their house. He knew this meant blowing his cover, but he had no choice. Besides, he could use any help he could get at this point.

Cradling Ryder in one arm and picking up the phone in his bedroom with the other, he hit speed dial five—Catherine Willows.

"Willows," came the blonde's voice over the line after a couple of rings.

Nick took a deep breath and identified himself and, without pausing, blurted everything as fast as he could. When he was done, he waited patiently for a response. He was half-expecting Catherine to hang up on him and dismiss it as a joke.

Catherine paused for a beat and said, "I'll be right there, Nicky."


	4. Baby Love

Catherine Willows didn't know what to expect when she arrived at Nick Stokes's townhouse. From what she could gather from his hurried speech, his twin sister had abandoned her infant son on his doorstep. To her it sounded like a _Lifetime_ movie of the week and was sure he was pulling her leg.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he admitted. "I need your advice."

Catherine almost suggested that he get that baby out of his house before it was too late, but poor Nick sounded just so distressed. She promised to come as fast as she could.

Nick was sitting on his couch, Ryder drooling like mad in his lap, when the doorbell rang.

"It's open!" he called, knowing it was Catherine.

The front door opened and closed. "Hello?" rang Catherine's voice.

"Living room."

Catherine's footsteps were quick. She appeared in the living room dressed in a pair of beige slacks, a matching pink-and-beige striped shirt and stylish brown leather ankle-boots. As soon as she set eyes on Ryder, she lifted her sunglasses onto her head and couldn't help but coo, "Well, hello there, little man."

"Thank God you're here," Nick gathered the baby up and stood. "I need help."

"You sure do," Catherine smiled and gave the baby a tiny wave. "Hand that little prince to me and go change your clothes."

Nick looked down at his outfit and remembered he was still in his pajamas, a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt. "Oh yeah," he said sheepishly. "I got distracted…"

"What's his name?" Catherine asked as Nick transferred the baby to her arms.

"Rachel's note says Ryder," Nick replied, leaving the room.

"Hello, Ryder Stokes," she said to Ryder as he was settled. He was an endearing baby; he looked, Catherine imagined, as Nick probably did at this age.

Catherine stood outside Nick's bedroom door as he changed into some real clothes, listening to the complete story and getting some background on Rachel.

"So, I never knew you had a twin," she said as she tickled Ryder's tummy. He harshly grabbed at her fingers and sucked on them. Catherine was reminded of Lindsey, also a finger-sucker. He had a nice grip on her hand, enough to make her flinch.

"Didn't know it was hard-hitting information," Nick replied, his voice muffled from behind the door, slightly ajar.

"Do you look alike?"

"All of John and Maureen Stokes's brood look alike. They would mix up me and my brother Joe constantly and with the girls, forget about it."

"It must have been nice to have all those older sisters and big brother looking after you all the time. I bet Rachel was practically your bodyguard."

"You know, I was usually the one to come to Rachel's rescue. She's always been trouble. She's not a bad kid, though. I never thought she would do something like this. She would have told me if she had a kid, right? I mean, nothing for the past two years and now this? I don't even know how old Ryder is."

"I can tell you precisely how old he is," Catherine answered.

"You do? How?" Nick opened his bedroom door, wearing dark blue jeans and a tan ribbed tee.

"His gums are swollen," replied Catherine, as if this answered everything.

"So?" Nick asked, impatiently.

"That means he's teething. He's five months old."

"Teething?"

"Yep. We aren't all born with a perfect grill. I can tell he's been drooling a lot. Has he been gnawing on anything he can reach? Fingers, keys?"

"My keys," Nick nodded.

"Got any toys before this little vampire ruins my manicure?"

"Oh…yeah, yeah, Rachel packed some things…" Nick passed Catherine into the living room, where the emptied diaper bag and its contents still resided.

"She left him with a bag?"

"And just a bag. Granted, it's full of useful stuff but, I dunno…"

Catherine observed the objects from the bag and her face became pensive. "Well, I'll tell you one thing—those diapers and wipes aren't going to get you anywhere. You better stock up. The clothes and blankets and toys are okay. The food you'll need to stock up on, too. I have a recipe book, however, that I used with Lindsey when I was trying to save money: homemade baby food."

"Homemade? Who do you think I am, Martha Stewart?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Nick, if you have a blender, you can make baby food. It's cheaper, not to mention _healthier_ than this stuff your sister tossed in here."

"When am I gonna find the time to—"

"And he's teething now, so he shouldn't be eating baby food twenty-four seven. A carrot or a cucumber slice wouldn't harm him, her can gnaw on that without hurting himself. Cheerios are great, too."

"He still needs a place to sleep," Nick blurted.

"You don't have a crib?" Catherine shifted the baby to her shoulder and plucked the cloth bib off the arm of the sofa and placed it underneath Ryder's chin.

"Why would I have a crib? Damn it, Cath, I've never even been married, how am I gonna take care of a baby?"

"That's why you called me, isn't it?" Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I just so happen to still have Lindsey's crib in my basement somewhere. I'm not gonna lie—it's pink. But I don't think Ryder will care, won't you, cutie?"

Nick didn't want to fathom the idea of a pink crib in his house but he was desperate. "Can you go get it?"

"_You_ can," Catherine reached into her pocket and tossed Nick her house keys. "I'll baby-sit." She settled onto the couch and sat Ryder up in her lap. Nick stared at her, still standing, hands on his hips. "_What_? It shouldn't be hard to find, it's still in its original box. You look like you don't want to be around the baby one more second."

Nick surrendered. "Fine, I'll go. Lindsey's not home, is she?"

"No, it's a school day. It should be off to the…right side, I think? If you can't find it, gimme a ring."

Nick reluctantly left the house, with one last look over his shoulder at Catherine cradling Ryder. He hated to admit, as he closed the door behind him, that he was already beginning to miss the little guy.


End file.
